Enough Time, Part 2
by Alison Keating
Summary: The second part of the Barbara Williams/Robert McCall story, "Enough Time."
1. Chapter 1

**Enough Time, Part 2**

**Chapter One**

They'd found her. McCall stood transfixed, phone against his ear, but hearing nothing. Kostmayer took the receiver from his hand, got the details from Alice, grabbed the keys, and pushed his friend out the door. McCall was in no state to get behind the wheel, so Kostmayer drove to the hospital, dropped McCall in front of the ER and left to park.

Before stepping through the entrance, McCall ran a hand over his face, straightened his tie and his shoulders, and prepared to be Robert McCall again, for Barbara.

Once inside, he was told that she was in cubicle three, through the doors to the left. Standing outside her cubicle were two people McCall knew. One was a young ER doctor, Geneva Farber, who had treated Barbara the last time they had visited here. The other was Larry Winters, the surgeon who had removed the bullet from Barbara's back a year ago. A long-time acquaintance of McCall's, Winters had spent years working for the Company before joining the hospital staff.

"Hello, Robert," Winters said, shaking McCall's hand. "I saw on TV that they had brought Barbara in, and I came down from my office right away." Turning to the other doctor he said: "I think you know Dr. Farber?"

Farber nodded and extended her hand to McCall, but he was already moving toward Barbara's bed, staring at the woman he had feared he would never see again. As always, his heart jumped upon seeing Barbara, and he was grateful beyond expression that she had been returned to him. But there was something…a shadow…something on her face…. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. She simply looked different. My dear Barbara, he groaned to himself, what did Michael do to you?

Keeping his eyes glued on Barbara, he half turned back to Winters and Farber, a question written clearly on his face.

"Mr. McCall, she's fine physically," Farber began. "She's got some deep lacerations on her wrists and ankles from the ropes, and she was extremely cold when they found her, but otherwise she's fine."

"Physically fine? And?" McCall thought he might not want to know the answer, but he had to ask. He focused again on Barbara.

Winters came closer, stood next to McCall, and took his elbow. McCall reluctantly turned his gaze from Barbara's face to look at Winters. "Robert, she was injected with a powerful drug, twice at least. We haven't been able to identify it yet."

"How bad is it?" McCall forced himself to ask.

"It's hard to tell," Farber continued with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "When they found her, she was disoriented and highly agitated. The paramedics sedated her, and now she's calmer, but she hasn't been responsive yet. We don't know how she'll be when she comes out of it."

"Has she spoken at all?" McCall asked.

"No. The paramedics reported that she was conscious when they found her, but she didn't respond to any of their questions," Farber told him.

"What's next?" He was trying to read Barbara's face. He wanted her to open her eyes and, what, he wondered? Be the real Barbara?

"We have to identify the drug before we can deal with it," Farber responded.

After fearing for so long what Michael might have done to Barbara, McCall now knew the answer. If he'd been thinking straight, he would have known it before. Michael Rosa had a reputation for using despicable drugs on his victims. Damn that man, how could he have done it to Barbara? What had Barbara ever done to him?

"I'll talk to her. She might respond if she hears my voice. Maybe she can tell us something about the drug," McCall said.

The doctors stepped away. McCall searched Barbara's face for signs, trying to understand what she had lived through and how he could fix it for her. Her eyes were tightly closed, her brow furrowed, and a muscle was twitching in her cheek. She certainly was not resting calmly. My dear, he thought, what is going on your mind?

He took her hand and bent down until he was close to her. "Barbara, it's Robert. Will you talk to me, my love?"

At first, nothing. Then he could see that her brow smoothed a bit, and her eyes fluttered slightly. She had heard him. It seemed that she was trying to answer, trying to break through some barrier and return to him.

"Barbara, you're safe," he said in his most gentle, soothing voice. "You're with me, in the hospital, the one where you had your surgery. Larry Winters is here, too. And Dr. Farber, the ER doctor who helped us…."

Her eyes fluttered open. At first she looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. She closed them, but opened them immediately again. This time she glanced around, orienting herself. Finally her gaze landed on McCall's face, and he could see them light up. She had recognized him. She tried to squeeze his hand.

"Yes, my love, I'm here. You're safe. It's going to be all right."

Once she had discovered Robert's hand around hers, Barbara thought she would never let it go again. For a time she could not calculate, she had been ripped back and forth between two realities. When she WAS coherent, she was so afraid that she wished more than once that she could die.

Now she had Robert to hold on to. Could he really keep her safe, keep her from going back to the other place? Maybe she didn't have to be afraid anymore, she hoped from the depth of her soul.

"Robert?" She hadn't known if she could get any words out.

"Yes, Barbara?" he answered, grateful for this first step.

"I was…afraid, so afraid. Please, don't let it take me again, please…," she begged him, squeezing his hand very hard.

This was so unlike the Barbara he knew that he could not answer until he composed himself. He didn't want her to notice his shock, so he took a few calm breaths. When he was ready to answer, he thought she must be talking about Michael. He reassured her: "Michael's dead, Barbara. He won't hurt you again."

"No…no, not Michael. Don't let it take me…back there…. I can't do it again." She had raised her voice until it was almost a scream.

He knew she hated to cry, but tears were running down her face. It alarmed him even more. Still holding her hand firmly, McCall stroked her cheek with his other hand. He was trying to understand what she meant. "It" took her, she had said. The drug, he asked himself?

"Barbara, can you tell me what happened?" They had to find out as quickly as possible. But could she do it, in this state?

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She told herself she had to try. She raised her face to him.

"I thought you were hurt. I opened the door. He had a gun. When I woke up I was somewhere else…tied up…. He was gone. He came back and…." She didn't want to remember. "He gave me a drug. He got it from the Agency." McCall flinched. How did Rosa get anything from the Agency, he asked himself? He had gone rogue long ago.

Barbara continued: "I was so afraid. It was…. It took me…. I was here, and then I was there. I can't explain…." She stopped, frustrated and fearful.

The monitor attached to her arm showed that her blood pressure was rising rapidly, and her breathing was becoming increasingly labored. The two doctors, who had been listening to the conversation a short distance away, eyed each other, silently questioning how long they should let this go on. McCall was asking himself the same question.

"It's all right, Barbara. You're all right," he said gently, stroking her hand.

But Barbara wasn't listening to him anymore; she was trying to make sense of what had happened to her. "It took me there…,and I didn't…. It was real…. I was back there, in my cell and…."

With dread, McCall realized what she was talking about. He knew about her experiences in the East German prison.

"They came for me…. It was…." She had closed her eyes and seemed to be drifting away again.

McCall had to stop her. "Barbara, open your eyes and look at me!" he said sharply.

He got through to her. She did as he ordered.

"Barbara, you are not there. You are with me, here in New York. You must believe me. You know I always tell you the truth," he said firmly, determined to make her believe.

She fixed her eyes on him again. She felt him stroking her hand. Could she believe her eyes, believe the feeling in her hand, believe what he said? Was she really here, she asked herself? She grasped his hand even tighter.

To her colleague and McCall, Farber said: "We know enough for the moment." To Barbara she said: "Dr. Williams, we're going to give you another sedative to help you rest. We'll move you to a room upstairs in a bit. Just relax. You'll be fine."

Farber left to give instructions to the staff. McCall had to talk to Winters, his former colleague at the Agency, and he didn't want Barbara or Farber to hear, so he hurried to take advantage of the other doctor's absence.

"Barbara, I have to talk to Larry. I'll be right over there."

Barbara panicked when he said he was leaving, even if it was only to the other side of the room. McCall could see it in her face. Once more, he was astonished at the change in her. She was not normally one to panic like this.

"No, Robert, don't go, please," she pleaded.

"I'll only go where you can see me, over there." He nodded toward the entrance to the cubicle. By this time Farber had returned with a nurse, who set about preparing Barbara's medications. McCall touched his lips to his wife's hand, gently extricated it from his and moved a few feet away to talk to Winters, never taking his eyes off Barbara.

"Larry, can I speak to you in private for a moment?" he said quietly.

Farber heard and said: "Whatever you have to say to Dr. Winters you can say to me, Mr. McCall. She is my patient, remember."

The two men traded glances, and Winters shrugged slightly. Why not, McCall asked himself? McCall indicated that they should move farther away from the bed. He still kept his eyes on Barbara, who was following his every move.

"Michael Rosa was the man who took her." Winters looked at him in distress. He knew Rosa by reputation. Farber could not know the name, so McCall explained: "Dr. Farber, Rosa was an assassin. He died this afternoon." He continued: "Larry, I don't know how familiar you are with Rosa's methods, but he often used psychological torture drugs." McCall left the rest unsaid.

Farber blurted out: "What are you talking about? Why would this man want to torture your wife?" Immediately she thought better of her words. She had met the McCalls once before, and after that run-in, she had concluded that they were not an average, middle-aged couple. Maybe this story was true, she told herself, as fantastic as it seemed.

McCall sighed. "Dr. Farber, please, can we just leave it? What's important is that the drug will be very difficult to identify. It's not as though the FDA had approved it." Addressing Winters, he went on: "Larry, there are two things you and I can do. Barbara said Rosa got the drug from the Agency."

"What? Robert, how…?" Winters broke in.

"I know, Larry, I know. But that's what he told her. He could have lied to her, or it could be true. Just because the Agency is American doesn't mean they're above these tactics, as you well know." Winters acknowledged McCall's words with a slight nod. Farber stared, open mouthed.

"I will look into the Agency angle. You have to find a drug expert. It seems to be a psychotropic or hallucinogenic, doesn't it?"

This was Farber's cue. "Sounds logical. When she was talking to you, she appeared to be trying to describe some kind of shifting reality. But what hallucinations are you talking about?"

"Doctor, she believed she had returned to a place in her past, a prison where she was held about ten years ago," McCall filled her in.

Once again the story seemed unbelievable to the young doctor, but McCall was absolutely convincing.

Winters had been considering McCall's plan. "I know someone who could help."

"Good, Larry," McCall said gratefully. "If you can get in touch with him…,"

"Her. She's a woman," Winters corrected McCall.

"If you can get in touch with HER and get her help, I'll shake some trees at the Agency…," McCall focused his eyes back on Barbara, who was still watching him intently. "Believe me, if they had anything to do with this, I'll…." McCall didn't finish. Some things were better left unsaid. "Kostmayer's outside. She trusts him. He'll stay with her while I'm gone." McCall hadn't asked him yet, but he knew Kostmayer would agree.

Farber nodded and said: "I'll oversee her treatment tonight. As I told her, we'll get her sedated and moved upstairs."

Before they separated, McCall asked Winters to send Kostmayer in from the waiting room. The three exchanged a brief look and set off to save Barbara Williams' sanity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

McCall was standing by the bed again when Kostmayer walked up, ready to greet Barbara. He stopped abruptly as he reacted to the change he saw in her face. "How is she, Robert?" he asked, hoping that McCall had not noticed his reaction.

When Barbara heard Kostmayer's voice, she opened her eyes. Kostmayer was Robert's best friend—she never counted Control as his friend—and he was her friend, too. Now she had the two men she trusted most in the world with her.

"Hey, Mickey," she said quietly.

"Hi, Barbara," he countered. He couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't give away his true feelings. He was really worried about her.

"She's going to be fine, Mickey," McCall said, talking to Kostmayer, but talking for Barbara. He continued: "We need your help. I've got some things to take care of. They're moving Barbara to a room upstairs soon. Would you stay with her while I'm away?"

That Robert was leaving alarmed Barbara, but she said nothing. She tried not to cry, struggling to regain control over her emotions. She'd never been so needy in her life. She hated it. But it was impossible not to be afraid.

Sensing her fear, McCall stroked her hand calmingly and explained: "We won't know how to treat you until we find out more about the drug. I have to look into some things. Mickey will take good care of you, won't you Mickey?"

"Sure, Barbara. I'll be here. Don't worry." He was happy to help.

"OK. But Mickey," she said with a tiny smile, "do a better job than last time."

A blush crept its way up Kostmayer's face, and McCall glanced at her in surprise. The last time Kostmayer was supposed to take care of Barbara, she had been abducted. She was talking like the old Barbara, McCall thought; that was good.

"Hey!" Kostmayer protested, glad of the break in the tension that filled the space. "That was a full frontal assault and…."

"I'm teasing, Mickey. Thank you," Barbara said, meaning it.

"Well, sure, you're welcome."

"Yes, thank you, Mickey," McCall said, his eyes saying more than he could put in words. After a kiss for Barbara, he reluctantly left.

Kostmayer wasn't sure what he should do. Finally he pulled up a chair and sat by the bed, figuring Barbara would talk if she wanted to.

Barbara wasn't paying attention to Kostmayer. She was still trying to cling to the small bit of control she had managed to regain. Feeling the effects of the sedative they had given her a few minutes ago, she hoped she could rest without the demons returning.

By 8:00 Barbara was in her spacious private room complete with a sofa bed and a comfortable recliner. For a price, this hospital offered special rooms where relatives could stay with patients, and McCall had arranged for this one before he left. They reconnected her monitor and regulated her IV drip, which was feeding her the sedative and rehydrating her. Just after she was settled, a new nurse came in. About fifty, with shrewd, dark eyes and black hair threaded with gray, Ellen Gibson exuded competence. Barbara liked her immediately.

"Hello, Mrs. McCall. I'm Ellen Gibson, one of the night nurses on this floor," she told Barbara with a smile. "I'll be taking care of you tonight."

Before Barbara could respond, Kostmayer said: "Her name is Dr. Williams." Barbara smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Gibson apologized, making a note on the chart she was holding. She understood. If you've earned it, why not use it?

"It's OK," Barbara said sleepily. Now she was definitely feeling the sedative they'd given her in the ER. "But you can call me Barbara."

Kostmayer looked at her in surprise. That wasn't the usual Barbara. She always liked being called Dr. Williams.

"We can get you something to eat before you sleep, if you'd like," Gibson went on, reading the instructions on Barbara's chart.

Barbara thought about it. Yes, she was hungry. But did she want to eat? If they gave her the choice, no, she didn't want to eat. She wanted to sleep. "I'd just like to sleep."

Again her response surprised Kostmayer. Ever since he'd known her, Barbara had never missed an opportunity to eat.

Gibson looked at the chart again and nodded. "Fine. Anything I can get you?"

"No, thanks," Barbara answered.

"Sleep well," Gibson said. She turned down the lights and left.

Kostmayer took his place on the recliner. Neither spoke. Eventually Kostmayer fell asleep.

Even though she was very tired, Barbara stared at the monitor, mesmerized by the blinking lights. She normally hated these monitors. They told everyone what was going on inside her, and she certainly did not want everyone knowing what was going on inside her. Tonight she was too tired, mentally and physically, to care. She just wanted to glide away from everything that had happened in the last…. She tried to remember how long it had been, but she couldn't put it together. No matter, she thought. Nothing mattered except escaping from…what, she asked herself? From here? From there? No, from both.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

While Barbara attempted to put her mind back together, McCall was driving to his meeting with Control. After retrieving the car from the ER parking area, he called Control to demand an immediate meeting. Control had still been at the office, late as it was; he, too, had spent the day trying to keep the Holdens alive, although McCall had no knowledge of his involvement in the affair.

At first Control had balked at the meeting, but McCall was adamant. Control knew it must have to do with Barbara, for he had heard of her rescue earlier. Control wouldn't go out of his way to help McCall's wife, but he would do just about anything to help his old friend, and he agreed to meet outside his office in thirty minutes.

McCall was waiting when Control came through the door into the alley.

"You're late," McCall snapped, forgoing a greeting.

His friend's tone confirmed in Control's mind that this must indeed be very important. McCall was not usually so impatient.

"Well, I'm here now. What is it?" he asked.

"Rosa gave Barbara one of his drugs," he began.

Control knew about Rosa and his drugs. He turned his head away, shrugging. "And?"

"It's bad," McCall growled. "That bastard Rosa…."

His face still averted, Control said: "I'm sorry, Robert," with as much sympathy as he could muster for Barbara. He turned back to McCall. "So what do you want from me?"

McCall looked at Control through narrowed eyes. He had not yet heard the whole story behind the animosity between his wife and his friend, but the depth of their hatred always caught him by surprise. Right now, he didn't care how much Control hated her. He needed information.

Moving closer to Control and staring him directly in the eyes, McCall said bitterly: "Control, the drug came from the Agency. Someone in the Agency gave it to Rosa."

Control was stunned, though he did not let it show. To give himself time, he glanced away once more. Who the hell had given Rosa anything, he asked himself? Rosa had officially been persona non grata at the Agency for years. Nobody was supposed to have contact with him, let alone give him one of those "special" drugs. In fact, almost nobody in the Agency had access to these drugs.

"Robert, that is impossible. No one in the Agency would dare do that. I've not even heard a rumor. Nothing," he insisted.

McCall moved closer, usurping more of Control's space, and declared very slowly, emphasizing every syllable: "Control, I do not believe you."

Control stood his ground. "What don't you believe, Robert? That someone dared to do it, or that I don't know about it?"

"Both." McCall was in no mood to play word games with Control. He wanted answers.

"Look, I have no information about anyone in the Agency giving Rosa a drug for his personal use. That is the truth, Robert." Control had lied to McCall in the past, but this was true.

McCall did not move an inch. "Which means that you are not sure whether someone actually did it," he pounced. Laying his hand on Control's lapel, McCall said in the tone that brooked no contradiction: "I want two things from you, Control, and I want them tonight. First, I want to know what drug it was."

Control broke in: "That is Top Secret, Robert."

"I do not give a damn what you call it, Control. You will tell me what it is, or so help me…."

Staring at his friend in astonishment, Control thought: Is McCall threatening me? He asked coldly: "Or what, McCall?"

McCall said nothing. His look said it all.

After a few moments, McCall continued: "I also want to know who gave the drug to Rosa." Then he added: "If you don't tell me, I WILL find out myself." This was not a threat; it was a statement of fact.

"If you find out…," Control began.

"WHEN I find out….," McCall countered.

"IF you find out, what are you going to do?" The question was rhetorical; Control hadn't expected an answer. This was good, because McCall was already on his way back to the car. "Robert!" he called out. "ROBERT!" McCall ignored him.

Watching McCall retreat into the darkness, Control shook his head, unwilling to believe what he had just heard from McCall and cursing the fact that he had yet another fire to put out. If someone in the Company had given Rosa the drug, it was a major breech of protocol. He would discover who it was. Then he'd have to decide whether to give him up to McCall or deal with him internally.

But the drug itself, that was much harder. Recalling McCall's face as he'd demanded the information, Control knew that he didn't want Robert McCall as an enemy. With that unpleasant thought, Control turned and disappeared through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Barbara was sleeping, carried along on the sedative and exhaustion. But after about two hours, something changed. Although she still dozed, she wasn't comfortable; she felt compelled to move her legs, then her arms. She felt as if spiders were crawling across her skin, and she cringed. Forcing her eyes open, she knew: It was beginning. It was taking her.

"Oh, no, please, not again!" she thought she screamed, though she did not actually make a sound. She desperately searched for Robert. He'd said he'd stay with her, but he wasn't there. Someone WAS there, but who? She felt the panic build in her, and she sat bolt upright in the bed, clutching the blanket as if it were a lifeline. She recognized him now.

"Mickey," she said in a strangled voice, "Mickey, please, help me!"

Kostmayer awoke with a start. Barbara's voice was so tortured that he jumped out of his chair and rushed to her side. She grabbed his hand and begged: "Mickey, help me. It's…." She didn't know how to say it.

"Barbara, what's going on?" He hadn't heard her tell McCall what it was like. In fact, he didn't know much of anything about her condition.

"Mickey, I'm so scared," she cried, squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. "It's going to take me back. They'll hurt me."

To Kostmayer it didn't make sense. "Nobody's going to take you anywhere, Barbara. You're OK. You're in the hospital," he said, trying to calm her down.

"No, don't you see, it takes me…," she tried to explain. "Michael's drug…."

Shit, Kostmayer thought, Michael did THAT to her? He knew how bad it could be; he had experience with psychological torture. He tried to think of something that would help, but all he could do was hold her hand.

Blankly, Barbara looked down at their hands. His was the last tie to this reality, and she tried with all her will hold on. It was useless. She could not keep her eyes open; her grip slacked; she was swept back. She was in her cell, waiting for them to come for her and tormenting herself with thoughts of the treatment they planned for her.

Kostmayer could see that she needed help, immediately. As he was about to push the call button, Nurse Gibson pulled open the door and strode purposefully into the room. She had read the monitor from the nurses' station.

"What's going on?" Nodding toward the monitor, she said: "Her blood pressure is spiking." She took Barbara's pulse, and shook her head. "Tell me what happened!" she demanded.

"She was sleeping. I was asleep, too. Then she called out for me to help her," Kostmayer explained.

The door swung open again, and Farber came in. "Nurse, you…." Before she could finish she looked at the monitor, then down at Barbara. "WHAT is going on?" She saw the tormented look on her patient's face, and she could read the story of the monitor. Gibson repeated Kostmayer's account.

Farber faced a tough decision. Since they had no idea what drug she had been given, it was risky to try another medication that might interact negatively with it. On the other hand, they had to get her blood pressure down or she could have a heart attack or a stroke; the fact that she was over fifty years old made the situation even more acute.

Farber knew that this was certainly beyond her own expertise, and she felt that their best chance was the specialist Winters had mentioned. She asked Gibson to call Winters immediately and find out if he had contacted the specialist. They needed her NOW.

Meanwhile, Barbara faced her tormentors; the room was the same, the men were the same, but what she imagined was worse than anything they had really done to her, just as the last time and the time before, as Michael had promised. After a minute, an hour, a day, she didn't know, her mind returned to the hospital in New York. Every part of her body ached from what her imagination told her had happened.

Groaning, Barbara opened her eyes to find three people standing around her, watching. Who were these people, she asked herself? Stop watching me and go away! You're useless. You let it happen again, she wanted to shout at them. You can't help me. Nobody would help her, she knew. She would never be whole again.

One of the people was the man she had married. Damn it, she cried to herself, why did I marry him? How could I be fool enough to trust a man again?

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. He had lied to her, and she didn't want to hear any more lies. He had said she was safe, that it would be all right. But she wasn't safe, and it wasn't all right. It had taken her again, and she hurt more than ever. She wanted them all, especially him, to go away.

"Go away," she heard herself saying. "Go away!" she heard herself shouting. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

They looked shocked at her words. Good, she thought, maybe they'll go now. Him, too. He had betrayed her. It was his fault, wasn't it? He had left her that night. The man had been HIS enemy, not hers. If she had never met him, never married him, she'd still be normal, she'd still be herself, and not the sniveling excuse for a woman she'd become. She hated him.

Damn it, they didn't go away. To shut them out, she closed her eyes, vowing not to speak.

"Barbara," McCall was saying, "please, listen." McCall had been bewildered when she'd pulled her hand away from him. Then there was that look in her eyes…something akin to hatred. My God, he asked himself, have I lost her after all?

Another of the people at Barbara's bedside was the specialist Winters had called in. Dr. Emily Stephenson was a short, compact, no-nonsense woman in her mid forties. In her fifteen years of practice, she had worked with many people from the Agency, and Winters was right in thinking that if anyone could help Barbara, she was the one.

A psychiatrist specializing in the kind of drug Rosa had used on Barbara, she had observed first hand the devastation these substances could cause. Some people recovered; some suffered from flashbacks for months, years, even their whole lives. Alone among the people watching Barbara, she was not stunned at her response to this latest incident. She'd seen it all. With a hand gesture, she indicated to McCall and Farber that she wanted to talk to them where Barbara could not hear.

When they were far enough away, she said: "Mr. McCall, Dr. Farber, I would like to speak to her alone. I have some ideas that might help."

McCall looked back at Barbara, unwilling to go. Farber took him by the arm and said: "Come on, Mr. McCall." She guided him out of the room to where Kostmayer was sitting, waiting in case he could help. McCall sat down and rested his head in his hands. Kostmayer touched McCall's shoulder.

"Hey, Robert, it will be all right. Dr. Stephens knows what she's doing." Kostmayer had never personally interacted with Stephens, but he knew her reputation.

McCall didn't look up. He was reliving the hatred in Barbara's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Back in the room, Dr. Stephens pulled up a chair and was sitting next to Barbara, who lay with her eyes defiantly shut, her mouth a tight line and her forehead creased in a frown.

OK, Barbara was telling herself, seething. There's no way I can fight the drug. They can't do anything, either, so just let me out of here, let me go HOME! Remembering the last few days, she thought: Damn it, I don't have a home anymore. I just sold it. And I sure as hell don't want to go to HIS place. With cutting irony she realized that she didn't even have a room of her own.

"Barbara," Stephens started. "Can I call you Barbara?"

Barbara said nothing.

Ignoring her silence, Stephens continued: "Barbara, tell me what happens when it takes you. What is it like when you are there? For example, when you are in the other reality, do you know that this reality exists or not? Some hallucinogenic drugs work one way, some another," she said knowledgeably.

Barbara had planned not to listen, but when she heard the questions, she sensed that finally someone knew SOMETHING about her condition. But she also knew that if she talked, she'd have to relive the things that happened to her. No, she told herself, I refuse to do that. She remained silent, eyes tightly shut.

"Barbara, I bet I know what you're thinking," Stephens said gently. "If you talk about it, you'll have to remember things you'd rather forget. Is that right?"

Unexpectedly Barbara felt tears welling up. For God's sake, she thought, exasperated, am I going to spend the rest of my life crying? Why can't I stop it?

"Yes," she choked out, eyes wide open now.

"Fair enough. But I can't help you unless I can understand what you're experiencing. It's essential. Do you think you can do it? Your husband has told me you are a very strong woman. Can you try?"

As soon as Stephens conjured up Robert, Barbara felt the tears rising yet again. What was I thinking, she demanded of herself? How could I even think about hating him? God, I LOVE him, more than anything. What's wrong with me? Confusion swept over her.

Stephens was watching her expectantly. Barbara had to remind herself what she was waiting for. Why do I get confused so easily? Shit, I'd be dead by now if I'd always had this much trouble focusing. Take a deep breath and pay attention! Oh, right, the story. She had to tell Stephens. "I'll try. But…." She stopped. "I don't know if I can explain."

"Just start anywhere. I can help you," Stephens said confidently.

Her confidence gave Barbara confidence. After a few halting sentences, the words spilled out. Stephens knew how to listen; she knew how to prompt; she knew how to ask the right questions. Although she kept some things back, things she wouldn't allow herself to think about, Barbara told this woman more about her experiences in the prison than she had told anyone but Robert. She also tried to explain how the drug affected her. After about an hour, she was very tired and told Stephens she had to stop.

"That's fine. It's a lot for the first day," the psychiatrist said, closing the notebook she had been writing in. Then she added: "Thank you."

Barbara was taken aback. She looked more closely at the woman to whom she'd been pouring out her soul. What she noticed immediately were her eyes. They were an unusual shade of green not unlike her own, and they seemed soft and dynamic at the same time. Someone to talk to; someone to trust.

What was she thanking me for? Barbara tried to remember, once again upset that she had lost her place in the conversation. "Thanks for what?"

"I'm sure telling me wasn't easy for you. Company people generally don't want to talk. You're a pretty non-communicative lot, aren't you?" she explained with just a hint of a smile.

Despite herself Barbara had to laugh. Stephens was certainly right: It was a character trait that served operatives well, at least most of the time. Suddenly Barbara realized she had laughed for the first time since this nightmare had begun, and she wanted to cry once more.

"Shit," she said aloud.

Stephens raised her eyebrows.

"First I was glad I laughed at something, and then I wanted to cry because I was laughing. I've never wanted to cry this much in my life, damn it!" Barbara said.

"Maybe you're letting your emotions out more?" Stephens suggested.

Barbara considered this idea. Could be true, she told herself. Or it could be she was just emotionally unstable right now. Would she continue to be emotionally unstable like this forever? She certainly hoped not.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Stephens was allowing Barbara to think, and Barbara was getting up enough courage to ask the question.

"So, what's your prognosis, Dr. Stephens?" she asked softly.

Stephens paused, considering what she should say—and what she should not say.

"I don't know, not yet. There's a lot more we have to do first."

This was not the answer Barbara wanted. She wanted a quick decision: Am I going to get back to normal or not?

"Isn't there something...," she questioned tentatively.

Once more, Stephens thought carefully about what she should say. She knew about Williams' past from her Agency file, which she had quickly accessed and scanned before coming to the hospital. She had also spoken to Williams' husband while she was living through her latest flashback.

Stephens was coming to believe that Williams had been deeply traumatized at the prison but never worked through the experience. Instead, she had locked it away for years. Even after starting to open up to her husband, she still had not dealt with it completely. Plus, Stephens was certain, Williams was plagued by more demons from her past than she had ever admitted to anyone, including herself. Stephens' experience had taught her that people in Williams' line of work could cover over their true feelings about the killing for only so long; it caught up to most of them in the end, at least to the ones with an ounce of conscience.

The unknown drug had catapulted these issues into Williams' consciousness. How she responded to the confrontation with her past, all of her past, would determine how she lived the rest of her life.

Williams was still looking intently at Stephens. The doctor knew she needed to give her an answer, but she did not want to tell her everything, not yet. Her patient was still too vulnerable from the kidnapping and its aftermath.

"Barbara," she said, "I believe that you can be all right."

A ray of hope shot through Barbara, and Stephens could read her reaction clearly on her face.

"However, it won't be easy. I don't think we'll ever find a simple antidote to the drug because we'll never ascertain what you were given. You are as aware of that as I am," she said truthfully. "There is no quick fix. You'll have to take charge of your recovery." She didn't explain further, thinking that this was probably already too much for Williams.

She was correct. Barbara stared at her blankly. What in the world is she talking about, Barbara asked herself? She wanted the simple antidote, the quick fix.

"I know you don't understand right now. That's OK. We'll work on it together—if you want. Right now we've got to get you stabilized. We'll use the sedatives for a while to bring your blood pressure and heart rate into line."

"What about the…when it takes me…?" Barbara asked, dread creeping back into her voice.

"We'll up the sedation when you have flashbacks. I'm afraid that's all we can do for the moment." It was harsh, but true. There was nothing more they could do.

NO! Barbara was screaming to herself, terrified. Don't tell me that! Please, I can't keep going back there!

"Barbara, I won't lie to you. It WILL be hard. But if you work at it, it will get better in time. It's really all up to you." Some of her patients worked at it and did get better. She'd also had some who did not work at it and went downhill fast.

While she fixed Stephens in her gaze, Barbara had what her husband might have called an epiphany as she recognized that she was at the next cross road in her life. Go one way and surrender to the drug—and Michael's vengeance. Go the other and put faith in Stephens' words. She was still deathly afraid of what Stephens had called the "flashbacks," but maybe, she told herself, if she believed in her eventual recovery, they would be bearable.

Laying her head back into the pillow, she coaxed herself into relaxing the muscles she had held tense while speaking to Stephens. OK, you've got to choose, Barbara Williams. Now! Go ahead, choose!

Although she did not admit it to herself, she knew in her heart that she had given in once before, to her tormenters in the prison. She was determined not to do that again. She chose.

She said in a very small voice: "OK…. But you will help me, won't you?" She was not used to asking for help, and it was difficult.

"Of course, Barbara. As will Robert, you know."

Oh, God, Robert! Where is he? Did I push him away? I have to talk to him, right now. I have to let him know….

"Is Robert still here?"

"Hum, I can't say. Do you want me to find him?" Stephens was pleased that Barbara's anger at her husband had passed. It was a first step.

Barbara nodded.

"Certainly." With a squeeze of Barbara's arm, she said: "I'll be back tomorrow, and we can talk about what comes next."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

While Stephens and Barbara were talking, Kostmayer and McCall had waited in silence on chairs in the hallway. Neither felt much like talking. By the time Stephens came to look for McCall, Kostmayer had left, at McCall's insistence, and McCall was staring out the window into the night.

"Mr. McCall?"

A tired and drawn Robert McCall turned to face Stephens. It had been one of the hardest days of his life.

"Yes, Dr. Stephens?" he said hopefully.

"She wants to talk to you." She smiled. "Right now."

He was torn between rushing to Barbara's side and wanting to know what she and Stephens had been discussing all this time. Noting his hesitation, Stephens said: "I'm going to come back at 9:00. If you'd like, we can talk a bit, too." She turned to leave, but reversed her steps and said to him: "Ask her first, though."

"I will. Thank you."

He walked quickly to Barbara's room, happy to be near her again, hoping she was….

"Barbara? Dr. Stephens said…."

Barbara sat up and broke in. "Robert, I was so angry, I didn't know what I was doing," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "I…was…angry and confused…and everything hurt so badly after the…."

"It's all right, my love. I knew you weren't yourself." It wasn't quite the truth, but McCall allowed himself the small lie.

She reached out the arm that wasn't attached to the machines and asked: "Please hold me, Robert. I need you to hold me."

Sitting on the side of the bed, he put his right arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. They each silently wished they were in their own bed.

"Robert, when can we leave? There's nothing wrong with me, nothing physical anyway. The cuts aren't really anything. These…, Dr. Stephens called them 'flashbacks.' They can happen anywhere. Why don't we just leave?" she implored him.

As much as he, too, wanted to go home, he knew it was too dangerous. "Not yet, Barbara. They're still concerned about your heart. When you have the 'flashbacks,' your heart is at risk."

"Shit," she said, a touch of her normal personality returning. "Why don't they just give me some damned blood pressure medication?" He had to smile. That was more like his Barbara.

"I don't know," McCall said. "Let's take it slowly, please."

She sighed, regretfully accepting his words. After a few moments, she decided to tell him what she'd been thinking ever since Michael had first taken her.

Not looking at him, she whispered: "I was such a fool, Robert."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, turning his head toward her, bewildered.

"When Michael came. I opened the door. I let him take me. You'd think I was an amateur." Once the words were out, it seemed to her that she was always apologizing to Robert. What had she thought the other day in Portland about making mistakes in their marriage? How many more damned mistakes was she going to make?

"How can you think it was YOUR fault?" McCall replied fiercely. "I was the one who left you alone. I should have known that Michael would try something. I'm the one to blame."

When she was so angry a while ago, she had thought the same, but she knew in her heart that it wasn't true. She was a trained professional who should be able to take care of herself. Trying to help him, she said: "I guess we both misjudged him."

"But you were the one who is paying," McCall said, disgust for himself evident in his voice.

Barbara heard the emotion. How could she stop him from blaming himself, she wondered? She did NOT want him to blame himself. She put her hand over his lips and looked directly into his ice blue eyes. "Robert, it was NOT your fault. None of this was your fault. You MUST believe that!"

He looked away and said no more, but he knew he would never forgive himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

A few minutes later Nurse Gibson came in with a tray of medications, and McCall reluctantly relinquished his position on Barbara's bed.

"Dr. Williams, it's late. You've got to get some rest," she said to Barbara. Looking at her very tired husband, she told him sternly: "Mr. McCall, it appears that you could use a little sleep, too."

McCall smiled briefly and nodded. It was almost midnight, and it had been a very long day.

Speaking to Barbara, she said: "I am going to add more sedative to your drip, and I've brought Tylenol for your wrists and ankles. Is there anything else you need right now?"

Barbara thought this over. There was a LOT she needed, but probably nothing the nurse could provide.

"No, thanks."

After administering the medications, Nurse Gibson left, turning down the lights as she closed the door. McCall went back to Barbara's side.

"If you need anything during the night, Barbara, I'll be right here, on the sofa. You'll let me know, won't you?" he asked.

"Yes, Robert, I will."

McCall bent down, and they shared an intimate kiss. Then he made himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa bed and waited. As soon as Barbara had fallen asleep and seemed to be resting comfortably, McCall left to use a pay phone in the reception area. Punching in their home number, he accessed the answering machine. There was one message, from Control.

"Robert, it was Luca, Emile Luca. He took the last vials of the drug, and he's disappeared. We don't know what the drug was."

McCall put down the phone. On his way back to the room, he turned it over in his mind. They would never know what Michael had given Barbara. Rosa was dead, but Luca was alive. McCall knew the man. He was a Czech national who had started working for the Company around fifteen years ago. McCall had no idea what the relationship between Luca and Rosa was, and he bloody well didn't care. In a week or a month or a year, when he felt it was safe to leave Barbara, he would hunt Luca down and kill him.

In Barbara's room, McCall tried to sleep, but he kept recalling the conversations—no, they were more like arguments--they'd had about vengeance and justice. What to her was justice was vengeance to him, and he had insisted that vengeance was not the right path. Yet now he had decided to kill Luca. What was that if not vengeance, he reflected, recognizing his own hypocrisy? Once, when they first met, Barbara confessed that she thought she might burn in hell for a killing she had called collateral damage. Well, perhaps he would burn in hell for this deed. So be it. Luca deserved to die.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

About 4:00 AM, it began again. Barbara woke up with a start, knowing it was coming. Fear struck her like a slap in the face, and as usual she couldn't control her breathing or her heart rate. She was just barely aware that Robert was sleeping nearby, but she couldn't call out to him. It took her very fast.

This flashback was different from the others. This time her mind summoned up what really happened in June of 1985.

She was in her cell. They came for her, but they didn't take her to the room as usual. They took her to another part of the prison, to the infirmary. Barbara was put on a bed, and left alone. Despite her uncertainty about what this might mean, she couldn't help enjoying the bed. It was the first real bed she had felt under her in months. It had sheets, and it was clean, far cleaner than she was. She hated being dirty all the time.

A few minutes later, a man came in. Without revealing anything, he performed a test and went away. She knew what the test was, and now she had good idea of what was going on. With revulsion, she recognized that they knew EVERYTHING about her life in that stinking cell.

Eventually a guard came and took her back to the cell. They left her, giving her plenty of time to agonize about what the test would reveal. Despite her attempts to refuse its reality, she could not stop thinking about it.

No, it can't be! I'm too old! There are other reasons your period stops, like stress or not eating or…or….SOMETHING other than that! But oh my God, what if I AM pregnant? It was too hard to bear.

During all the pain and degradation she'd experienced in this place, Barbara had been able to control her mind and her emotions. She had never given in to the men, to the Watcher. They had hurt her body; her soul had stayed her own. Now, if this was true, could she still do it, still keep her soul? She cried.

The door opened, and they came for her. She tried to compose herself, but her tears were obvious. They would know. HE would know.

The guard took her to the room again. Instead of ordering the others to hurt her, the Watcher came around his desk and stood in front of her, a cruel smile on his face.

In a voice dripping with sarcasm he said: "The test is back. You will be pleased to know that you are pregnant."

"No, it can't be," she blurted out, against her will. She had said almost nothing in all the time she'd been here, and this outburst pleased the Watcher. He also noted the traces of her tears with satisfaction.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I'm too old," she answered. The other men in the room snickered.

Glancing down at the papers he held, he shook his head: "No. There is no doubt." He paused, looked up and stared directly at her. "We have decided what we will do with the baby." With those words, Barbara knew he was seeing exactly what he wanted in her eyes: naked fear. His own eyes flashed triumph. At last, he had broken her.

Staring at the Watcher with tears running down her face, her brain went blank. It couldn't be. It was too much.

When her mind deposited her back in the New York hospital, Barbara felt she had been gone for hours. Actually, it was only about twenty minutes. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, but she did in time recognize the hospital room and the ubiquitous monitor and IV drip. Nurse Gibson was there, and so was Robert. She put her hand to her face; yes, the tears were there, too.

This was the first time she had ever allowed herself to remember the baby. She had put the experience away and refused to think about it—until today. Only the Company doctors who had treated her after she'd been released from the prison knew about the baby. And Control, of course. Damned Control.

Lying in a hospital bed almost ten years later, Barbara searched for reasons her mind had brought this memory to the surface now. Did she have to tell Dr. Stephens? Robert? She didn't know the answer, yet.

McCall stood watching his wife, recognizing the turmoil she was living through. This was the first time he had seen one of her incidents first hand, and he was both shocked and infinitely saddened. It seemed that each time she was "taken," as she called it, her strength was further sapped. With each flashback, she changed a little more. Who would she be when it was all over?

"Barbara, what can I do?" he asked. He felt so helpless.

"I…I don't know, Robert." She didn't want to tell him about this flashback, not because of his reaction, but because of her own. Some part of her mind had opened the door to the room holding this experience, but for now she didn't want to explore what was inside.

"I'm so tired. I just want to sleep." While she had been away, the nurse had increased the level of sedative in her IV, as Dr. Stephens had instructed. They had succeeded in keeping her heart relatively calm, and Barbara was feeling the sedative. But she was also using her weariness as an excuse not to talk.

Nurse Gibson intervened. "Mr. McCall, let's just let her sleep. It's 4:30. She needs rest more than anything right now."

McCall nodded, more to Barbara than to Gibson. "Yes, I'm sure you're right, Mrs. Gibson."

So, Robert McCall sat holding his wife's hand at the side of her hospital bed, a position he'd been in more times than he cared to remember. When he was sure she was asleep, he gently placed her hand on the blanket and went back to the sofa bed. He dozed, but each time Barbara made a sound, he awoke, fearing another incident.

Finally he got up, pulled the comfortable chair close to the bed and watched Barbara sleep. In the dark quiet of the hospital room, he recalled the prayers he had spoken so fervently at his apartment window. Had God saved Barbara? Or had something else happened? He didn't know.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The next morning around 7:30, after making sure that she was well attended, McCall left to get a paper and some good coffee. Barbara loved good coffee, and he hoped it would raise her spirits. He also planned to read the paper to her because she loved it when he read aloud to her. Usually he read a novel; they had been working their way through _Middlemarch_ before she left for Portland. That book was at home, though, and they'd have to make do with the paper.

When he returned, the orderly was removing Barbara's breakfast tray. She was sitting up in the bed, and if he had been channeling popular music, he would have said that his heart skipped a beat. Yes, she looked tired, and yes, the shadow was still flitting across her face. It didn't matter, because this woman touched something in him that no other woman had ever reached. How could that be? Now, at this time in his life?

Barbara had looked up as Robert came into the room. His suit was rumpled and he needed a shave, but his eyes, his beautiful, piercing blue eyes transfixed her as they always did. For a wonderful moment, she forgot where she was, and what had happened, and she was filled with pure joy. She was amazed that she had found him; amazed how much she loved him; even more amazed how much he loved her. How could that be? Now, at this time in her life?

She smiled at him. "Good morning, Robert."

"Good morning, my darling," he said, returning her smile. "I've brought you a half decaf wet grande cappuccino. I did get it right, didn't I?"

That he had brought her favorite coffee almost made her cry. Having Robert and a good cup of coffee…. Instead of crying, though, she laughed out loud. It felt so good to laugh.

"What?" he asked, feigning disappointment. "Is it wrong?" He was VERY happy she had laughed.

"No, no, I was just comparing you and a good cup of joe, Robert."

He looked puzzled, and Barbara had to laugh again because sometimes his education was sorely lacking. Like the time he thought they played baseball in the winter.

"Coffee, Robert. Joe is a word for coffee. And you did get it right, thank you."

Taking the cup from him, she took a first tentative sip. Sometimes the barista put in too much or too little milk. This one was perfect.

"Um, wonderful." She took another sip, then asked: "What else did you bring me?"

Standing next to the bed, McCall unfolded the newspaper. "_The Times_. I thought I could read to you, if you want. I haven't had time to go home and get _Middlemarch_."

"That's fine. I'd love you to read _The Times_ to me." The truth was that she didn't care what he read; it was hearing his voice that she loved.

"We'll have to wait, though. Dr. Stephens is coming this morning," he reminded her.

Barbara frowned. She had forgotten. Or maybe she hadn't wanted to remember. On the other hand, she knew it was important that she discuss things with the psychiatrist. Especially since she'd begun to uncover her feelings about the baby. The thought of the baby made her cringe slightly, and Robert noticed.

He started to speak, but she put her hand to his lips and said: "Don't worry, Robert, I'm fine with it. When is she coming?"

"Around nine." Looking at his watch, he said: "Which is about now. Should I see if she's here?"

"Sure. As long as I can finish my cappuccino."

McCall went into the corridor and found Stephens checking in at the nurses' station.

"Good morning, doctor," McCall said.

"Oh, Mr. McCall, good morning. I was just reading Barbara's chart. She had another flashback this morning?" Stephens had thought that Williams would experience many more incidents, so she wasn't surprised, but it was too bad that they were occurring as often as they were.

"Yes. It didn't last too long. She didn't tell me anything about it."

"Well, at least the medication kept her heart rate from spiking too much. That's good."

McCall said nothing.

"Yesterday I mentioned that we could talk about your wife's condition. Do you want to?"

McCall had been mulling this over.

"No. I'll wait until she decides to tell me herself, IF she decides to tell me." As much as he wanted to help her get better, he didn't want to force her to do anything either.

"That's a wise choice, Mr. McCall. I'm fairly sure she will confide in you, but it's best that she can do it on her own time." She waited for him to answer, and when he didn't, she went on: "Is she ready to see me now?"

"Yes. She's waiting."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Barbara was finishing the last of her coffee when Stephens came in. Exactly how she would get through this session she didn't know, but she had decided she must talk about the baby.

"Hello, Barbara."

"Hello, Dr. Stephens."

"I understand that you had another flashback this morning."

"Yes." Barbara wanted to say more, but she didn't know how.

"Was it like the others?" Stephens prompted.

"Well, I…um…," she started, but she stopped again. Sometimes you are such a damned coward, she swore at herself. Go on!

Stephens was silent, trusting that Barbara would say what she obviously needed to say.

After what seemed to Barbara like an eternity, she finally screwed up her courage and said: "Yes, it was like the others…. But it was different." Knowing she was making no sense, she started over. "I was back in Bautzen, yes, but this time it was real. No, that's wrong. It was always real for me when I thought I was there. Oh, shit, I don't know how to...," Barbara said fervently, frustrated by her inability to explain. She was usually an articulate person, and this upset her.

"You're doing fine, Barbara. Just tell me in your own words. I'll figure it out."

Barbara looked at Stephens gratefully, trusting that she WOULD figure it out. She began again: "OK, this time, what I experienced in the…um…flashback…. It was what really happened to me in the prison. Before, it was kind of like what really happened, but different. This time, it was…."

"I understand, Barbara. Let's say it was historically accurate. How does that sound?"

Barbara wanted to laugh. Historically accurate. That sounded ridiculous. But it was correct. OK, historically accurate. Now she had to say what happened. She knew Stephens was waiting. Laying her head back on the pillow, she closed her eyes and told the doctor about the pregnancy. Unknowingly, she began to cry again.

Stephens had known about Barbara's pregnancy; it was in her file. What she didn't know was how it had affected her soul. That's what she had to hear.

"Why do you think your mind chose this particular incident for your only historically accurate flashback, Barbara?"

With her eyes still closed, Barbara said in a very soft voice: "Because it is time."

"Time for what, Barbara?"

"Time to remember."

"Time to remember what?"

"What I felt, about the baby, about everything."

"How did you feel?"

Barbara had to stop, to collect herself. How had she felt? How did she feel today? She had not yet been able to sort out her emotions. What should she say?

"I….I was…so confused…. No, not confused…. Conflicted? Everything was wrong about the pregnancy, but it was still a baby, do you see?"

Stephens nodded.

"I'd never wanted a baby. I was old, for God's sake; it was almost time for menopause, not for a baby. Then to get pregnant there, in that hell hole. And who was the father? It could have been any of those despicable men." She had to stop. Over and over in the prison, she had envisioned bearing a male child and watching him grow, fearing that the traits of his father would surface.

"You know what I thought, too? That my body had betrayed me, accepting his sperm and making a child. I had fought so hard not to give in to those men and then…." She took a deep breath, reliving the emotions she had felt then.

Stephens waited for her to continue.

"Sometimes I felt like there was a foreign presence in my body, and I just wanted it to go away. But other times…. I thought about it as a child, a baby who needed me and…." She had to tell her the other part. "You know what the Watcher said? That THEY had made a decision about the baby, but he didn't tell me what decision it was. They had complete control over me. I think that was the worst part. I couldn't decide. They would decide." The thought still wrenched her soul.

"When did this happen?" Stephens asked. "You were there for three and one half months. When did you find out?"

Somewhere in her mind, Barbara realized that Stephens knew how long she was in Bautzen, even though she hadn't told her. Maybe she'd ask about it later. Now, it didn't matter.

"It was right at the end. I didn't know I was going to get out in a few days, but I think they did. He was using the pregnancy to get to me." After a pause, she murmured: "And he did. He broke me."

"What do you mean, he broke you?"

"Like I said before, I fought so hard to resist, not to give in, not to show them fear or cry or…. When he said that about the baby, I just gave in. I couldn't do it any more."

"Why did you think you had to resist?"

Barbara was stunned by the question. Why, she thought? She'd never asked herself that question.

"Because…because that's what a soldier is supposed to do. Not give in to the enemy." That was the best answer she could come up with.

"And you're the perfect soldier?"

"What else is there? I mean, you have to try to be the best at what you do. You don't try to be a mediocre doctor, do you?"

Ignoring Barbara's question, Stephens posed another: "Is there a difference between trying to be the best you can and trying to be perfect?"

"I…," Barbara began, meaning to defend herself. But she had to stop. She knew where the doctor was going. DID she expect perfection from herself? Rationally she knew she could not be perfect. Then why did she expect it from herself?

Stephens waited a few moments to let Barbara run this through her mind. Then she asked: "How did you feel when they 'broke' you, as you call it?"

Glaring at the doctor, Barbara sputtered: "How do you think I felt?"

"That's what I'm asking," Stephens answered evenly.

"Humiliated. Angry."

"Angry at whom?"

"At them…. At myself."

"Why at yourself?"

"Because I was weak. Because I let it happen. Because my body betrayed me," she retorted. Barbara was trying to hold it in, remembering how she had felt. No, she realized, it was how she felt NOW.

"Looking back, do you still think that was an appropriate reaction?"

"I…I…don't know," Barbara stammered. But she did know. She just didn't want to say it. The concept was too foreign.

Stephens kept pushing. "Tell me, how do you think you could have done better?"

"By not giving in," Barbara insisted.

"Was that possible, under the circumstances?"

"But the circumstances shouldn't matter," Barbara countered. "You can't give in just because it's hard."

"Hard? Barbara, You KNOW it was more than hard; it was impossible. They were ALL waging war against you, you alone. The odds were overwhelming. You were totally isolated. You didn't know if you'd ever get out. They didn't feed you; you couldn't sleep; they kept you in the dark; didn't let you bathe. They tortured you sexually. You resisted all of that for months, even when you were pregnant, even when your hormones were keeping you in turmoil."

"My hormones shouldn't have anything to do with it," Barbara hissed.

"Why not, Barbara?"

"Because…, oh, God, I don't know, because you can't let your hormones control your actions, damn it."

"Who do you mean by 'you'? As in YOU can't let your hormones…."

"Me, I can't." Wasn't it obvious, Barbara thought?

"And who are you? The perfect soldier, right?"

"Stop, you're confusing me. I don't know what you mean," Barbara cried out.

"Look, Barbara, I know you know you can't be the perfect soldier. All you can be is you. From where I sit, you're a pretty damned good operative. But you simply can't be what you're not. You HAVE hormones. You CAN get pregnant. In that prison at that time there was nothing more you could do. You did everything you could do. Nobody, man or woman, could have done better."

Barbara sucked in a deep breath, because she suddenly got what Stephens was telling her. She didn't respond, but she understood.

"Barbara," Stephens said. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I was thinking that I didn't want to talk about this anymore."

Stephens was ready to reply when Barbara glanced at her, shrugged, and continued: "No, it's all right. We can keep going." She paused before getting up the nerve to say it: "You're telling me that I should stop beating myself up for not being perfect."

Stephens raised one eyebrow.

"What?" Barbara asked. When Stephens still said nothing, she capitulated: "OK, OK, I'm supposed to tell MYSELF that I should stop beating myself up for not being perfect. Right?"

The other eyebrow went up.

Without looking at Stephens, Barbara said in a small voice: "I'm supposed to stop beating myself up for being a woman?"

"Do you believe that?" Stephens asked.

Barbara said nothing. She was thinking. She hadn't realized that she had been putting that pressure on herself, but what Stephens said made sense.

Another idea hovered at the back of her mind, too, just out of reach. She tried to tease it out. "If…if it was OK to give in…." She didn't quite have the right words.

Stephens waited patiently.

"Giving in means losing all control. No, not losing it; giving UP all control. I don't like to lose control. Like when I'm having a flashback, having no control. It scares me." She shuddered, remembering.

Stephens raised her eyebrow again and nodded slightly. Good work, Barbara.

Barbara was following the concept to the end. "But that's an illusion, isn't it? About having control? I KNOW it's an illusion. Why can't I accept it?" Barbara asked, not of the doctor, but of herself.

"Barbara, we all want control in our lives. And we all have to learn when it's possible, and when to, well, give in and admit that it isn't possible. It's a hard lesson." Thinking over her words, Stephens added quietly, respecting the life Barbara had led: "But for most of us it's different than for you. For us it isn't usually a matter of life or death."

"Yeah," Barbara said. "You know what's funny? Well, not funny, ironic? I never wanted to be a soldier. The Company recruited me as an intelligence analyst. That's what I wanted to do, read intell and write reports about it. But here I am."

Barbara was sitting up in the bed, tightly grasping the guard rails, body tensed with the pressure of the conversation. She released herself and lay back, allowing her body to relax. Was she giving up control? Letting go? Maybe, she thought with an inward smile.

Stephens recognized that the conversation was over.

"I think that's enough for today. We'll talk more later," she said.

Barbara didn't react, too absorbed in her own thoughts.

"Good bye for now. I'll be in touch." Not expecting an answer, Dr. Stephens left.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Barbara saw a new nurse, a tall, large African-American woman. She held a tray with bandages and ointments.

"Hello, honey, my name's Vargie, Vargie Mason, the day nurse on this floor. Right now I'm going to dress those wounds you have on your wrists and ankles, OK?" she asked with her signature smile. She knew her smile was her best asset.

"Hello, Vargie." Barbara looked vaguely at her wrists. She'd forgotten about the rope cuts. As she remembered, they hurt all of a sudden.

"Shit," she said aloud.

"Now, Barbara, I don't want any of that foul language in this room. Ladies don't use that language," Mason instructed, looking at Barbara sternly over her half glasses. Given her conversation with Stephens about being a woman, Barbara found this comment pretty funny.

Laughing, she said: "OK, Vargie, I'll try to remember."

"Of course you'll remember, honey," Mason said with another dazzling smile.

Mason set about redressing the cuts, while Barbara watched. Shit, she didn't say aloud, they are kind of deep. The antiseptic stung.

"Your husband was hanging around outside for a long time while you were talking to that Dr. Stephens. I finally told him to go home and get presentable, shave and all. I mean, he's a fine looking man, but shoot, he did need to fix himself up."

Laughing again at her description, Barbara said: "Good, I'm glad you told him. He probably would never have gone home if you hadn't pushed him."

A few minutes later Mason said: "There, all done," putting her supplies and the old bandages on the tray. "They'll be here with lunch soon. Anything you want me to do? Want to watch TV?"

"No, thanks, I'll just lie here for a while." Barbara had plenty to think about.

Instead of thinking, Barbara fell asleep; she'd had almost no uninterrupted sleep for two days. She missed the lunch delivery. At about 2:00 she woke up. Robert was sitting in the comfortable chair, reading the paper, his normal, well-groomed self again. As usual, she felt the thrill of seeing him, and she smiled.

"Hey," she said, sleep hoarsening her voice. "You're not supposed to read the paper without me!"

"I thought you'd forgive me when I told you the news."

"What news?" She sat up.

"They're letting us go home."

"Oh, Robert, that's wonderful," Barbara cried, practically jumping out of the bed. "Did you bring some clothes for me? I don't have any…."

He held up his hand. "Wait! Not today, tomorrow. Not until tomorrow."

She was crestfallen.

"I know, my darling. But think of it this way," he said cheerfully. Reaching down beside the chair, he produced a very thick book. "Now we have time to finish _Middlemarch_."

That made her laugh, as he had planned. "Oh, OK. How many pages do we have left?" she asked, lying back again.

"Hum…." Putting on his glasses, he took out the bookmark, found the page number, and pretended to reckon. "Only about five hundred, give or take a few hundred," he said, gazing at her with mock seriousness.

"Well, you'd better get started, hadn't you?" she said, anticipating the pleasure of hearing her husband's voice for the next few hours.

Robert McCall found his place on the page as Barbara Williams settled back into the pillows, ready to immerse herself in the lives of Dorothea Brooke and the loathsome Mr. Casaubon. Her own life could wait.

Smiling at his wife, McCall read: "Chapter Three. 'If it had really occurred to Mr. Casaubon to think of Miss Brooke as a suitable wife for him, the reasons that might induce her to accept him were already planted in her mind, and by the evening of the next day the reasons had budded and bloomed.'"

The End


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